Ships in The Night
by W Murray
Summary: What happened to Fenris when he made his escape to Kirkwall? This is a story of that journey - the trials he faced, and those he traveled with, including a face that many in Ferelden would know. CHapter 10: Epilogue, up! Story Completed!
1. A Chance Encounter

**Author's Note: Howdy folks! A fic I wrote while fangirling over Dragon Age with a friend! The background is F!Tabris, and alive. How? You'll find out! Please read and review**

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_Little wolf, little wolf, is this the game you want to play?_

No, he would not put it past Daranius to be in his head. He always wondered if that was why he couldn't remember: if his master was a Dreamwalker and reshaped his mind according to his whim...Or if he was just a regular figure of his nightmares, but no more. He was gone, and Fenris would be free this time.

But the city proved problematic to such an endeavor. It was easy enough to slip through walls, to move unseen among the teeming masses that filled the streets below the grand spires. It was easy to lurk inside the opulent halls of the magister lords...But it was not something he could do forever. Until he could find a way past the Juggernaut Golems that monitored the gates, until he could find a way past the magical barriers, he could not leave Minrathous. And he knew he would not be able to avoid Danarius within the city walls when the Magister returned...

Tonight he found himself within one of the grander homes, all gilded edges and billowing curtains and decaying columns. He thought perhaps he might find some artifact, some prized relic that could be his ticket out of here. He creeped along the corridor, laying flat against the wall as he approached a door way. It was a bright night: the moon shone down through the atrium and cast the entirety of the room in a cold light. The rest of the house was dark; nearly everyone was asleep, with one very important exception. A light remained in the master's room. He had hoped the mage was out - tonight was a popular night for secret blood rituals in the spires. Anything of worth would be in his room, but he knew killing a mage of such status could bring unwanted attention...it would complicate things.

The sound of laughter caught him off guard, and caused him to peek around the corner. The mage - a flabby excuse for a human - was reclining on the bed, but it was not his laugh he had heard. No, that was from the Senator's companion. His eyes narrowed into thin slits, and it was hard to keep a growl back from deep in his throat. It was an elven woman, and she was clad in scraps of red silk. He had seen these types in his master's - in his former master's home. It was a mark of pride to sire a child on an elvish woman; the offspring were thought to have greater chance of magical abilities, and the women were well paid...If the child had no magical ability, then its blood would at the least have greater potency in some sordid ritual. It made him sick to his stomach. He waited until he was sure that both occupants were thoroughly involved with each other before he phased through a wall and behind a curtain. Perhaps the woman would prove sufficient distraction for what he needed to do, at least

She was dancing in front of the man, peeling away the red sash tied around her hips. The man's eyes were locked on her form, on the smooth expanse of skin slowly exposed by her strip tease. Fenris crept behind the draperies, inching ever closer to the ornate chest in the corner.

"Come here, pretty!" He heard the mage say, saw him reach out for the elf from the corner of his eye. Fenris did not care to see what would happen, what he had seen countless nights, standing guard at his master's bed. He heard the woman giggle, and heard her move towards the man draped of the bed. "Pretty, is it?" She purred, climbing to the edge of the bed, "I prefer ravishing..."

Fenris was going to be sick.

"Ravishing? I'll show you ravishing, pretty, witty elf." The woman was advancing on the man, was straddling his hips as she began to untie the knot of fabric behind her neck, arching her back and jutting her breasts out. The fat man greedily filled his palms with them, fascinated by her movements, the slow rolling of her hips against him, separated by the sheets. "Do you like this, Senator?" Fenris paused, looked over his shoulder. There was an edge to the woman's voice. He shrugged it off, turned away as nothing changed.

Again she spoke to the man beneath her, who was moaning and nodding his answers to her questions, "Yes, that's right. You enjoy this, don't you?" Something nagged at Fenris. There was something there - he looked over his shoulder, peered over at the couple. It was...taking her an extremely long time to disrobe completely.

"So good..." She crooned, "So good, isn't it?" The fabric was finally loosened, but her hands remained behind her back. The human beneath her grinned, and Fenris inched toward the curtain that separated him from the pair on the bed. There was violence coming, he could feel it in the air...

"Did it feel so good when you killed Valora?" There was a flash of steel, a gurgling sound as a stiletto found the center of the mage's throat. Blood seemed to erupt, splashing all over the pale skin of the elf. "I heard what you did..." All pretense of seduction was gone. Part of Fenris was shocked as he watched what was happening.

"She was a good woman, you know. She was my family. We survived unspeakable things, and she did not deserve her fate at your hands." The man beneath her could only look at her in shock as the life ebbed from him. He could not speak, could not conjure any defense with his lifeblood seeping into the sheets beneath him. Fenris found his revulsion had turned to admiration. It was bold. Suicidal, to kill a Senator in the middle of the Capital of the Tevinter Empire, but bold.

Did he say something, did he make a sound? All of a sudden she stiffened, head shooting towards his direction. "Who's there?" The woman crawled off the dead man, naked and covered in his blood. The knife still flashed in her hand. There was nothing in the chest of value, so Fenris backed away, phased through the wall and back into the atrium, away from the woman. This was not his business...But if she had managed to infiltrate this place, maybe if he followed her -

She ran out, hastily redressed in the bit of silk she arrived in, a cloak draped over her arm. But she did not make towards the exit - she moved to the kitchen, more so. There a key in her hand, no doubt taken from the cooling corpse of the man in the bedroom - what would she need it for in a kitchen? He stalked after the person that might be the key to his way out of the city.

There was a figure slumped in a chair by the fire. The woman knelt by his side, sliding the key into the shackles that bound him there. "Valendrian? Wake up. It's me - It's Cyrion's daughter. I've come to take you out of this place, to take you home."

Home? Where was home for these elves? He lingered around the doorway, watching. The figure in the chair was slow to respond; the elf was old, and weak, but it was not just his age that made him so. There were marks on his flesh, lacerations on his hands, his cheeks. He had been used as more than a kitchen slave. None held under the control of the Tevinter mages could escape their penchant for casual blood magic. The woman tried to lift him up, tried to throw his arm around her shoulder - (had Fenris been careless again? Had his curiosity caused him to be careless? Because her voice rang out in the room again, directed towards the doorway where he tried to hide.

"Whoever you are that follows us, reveal yourself-" She set the old man down, holding the blade in front of her and placing her foot back, ready to strike. "If you are friend, you can come with us."

It was an unexpected promise, but it was more than he could have hoped for. He emerged from the darkness, approaching the woman with his hands out. He saw her eyes widen at his appearance, at the faint glow of the lines of lyrium beneath his flesh, but she said nothing. He spoke this time, "Get me out of the city, and I will help you in what way I can." Supplication was not something he gave willingly, but there was a chance here that had not existed just a few moments before. He hoped the roughness of his voice did not hide the sincerity. She seemed to believe him, gesturing to the old elf behind her. "Help me with him. There is a place." The knife lowered, "We leave none of our kin behind, whatever the cost."

Three figures left that villa in the dead of night. Their faces were obscured by dark and heavy cloaks. One leaned against the other as the smaller figure led on. Inwardly, Fenris grimaced at walking so openly in the streets of the city, grimaced as he felt the old man's weight against him...But there was something in his heart that had not been there before:  
**  
**Hope.


	2. The Woman

**Ugh, I feel so rusty, after not publishing anything for so long - this and cups have been sitting on googledocs forever. I hope you're enjoying it though - it is completed, though it'll take a while for my other fics to be finished! Please read and review! And most importantly, enjoy!**

The lower levels of Minrathous were a maze of alleyways, poorly fashioned streets and broken cobblestones that denoted a vague path. At every turn, he had to fight the urge to disappear within a wall, to sink into a corner and disappear from plain sight, but he could not, with the weight of the old elf he held up against him. He could not, not with the woman's promise of escape. There were times when she would stop abruptly, holding her arm out to press the pair behind back, like a mother shielding her children. They would wait for whatever alerted her to pass, before starting again.

It was more touching, however indirect, that gnawed at him. That nagging feeling, that growing discomfort, made time crawl to a stop. Ages seemed to pass as they made their way to the city, until finally she rapped her knuckles on a door way, whispered something against the wood. The door opened - a blinding light caused him to turn his eyes away.

"Hurry! Dawn comes, and with it discovery of what I have done." His eyes had not adjust to the light yet, and he felt a hand push him forward, heard other voices join in quiet, worried discussion. The burden of the old man was relieved, but he did not see whom it was that took him. Finally, his eyes adjusted from the pitch black of the city streets to the bright interior of the hovel he found himself in. He was surrounded by elves.

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"You did what? A Senator? Then it is all for naught. How can we...?"

"It is done, and it was right." her voice brooked no refusal, no argument, but the ensuing silence was an uneasy one.

Fenris took the time to more closely inspect the woman; now changed from bloody silks to something more common, and study her features. She was young, with a dark cloud of hair cut past her shoulders. Her eyes were a clear grey, set against pale skin. The change in attire meant he could not appreciate or analyze the other features of her body, but the short time they were exposed within view in the bedchambers of the mage, he remembered they had not been...unpleasant to look upon. There was a gentle sloping of forehead to nose, not as thin as he had seen in other elves, but not flattened to the extreme either, like a cat's nose. Her lips were full and a pale shade of pink, when wiped from the rouge that had stained them in the villa. She was dressed in a loose shift of homespun cloth, plain and colorless. It was belted at the waist, slit at either side up to her thighs, revealing the soft leather boots. She must have felt him appraising her, for her head turned, those grey eyes meeting him as she acknowledged him with a nod, before turning to the elf across the table.

The elf speaking to her was a wiry sort, with the half-starved look he came to regard as a trademark of free Tevinter elves. His brown eyes were wide, and his hands were gesticulating wildly.

"You don't understand. It wasn't a mere mage - even your First Enchanters don't compare to a Senator. A full-fledge Magister! It's a wonder you managed to kill him, but they will tighten security - their best dreamwalkers will scout the city for the slightest bit of thought. They will crack down upon the elves - upon everyone! You haven't just jeopardized your own mission, but every underground operation - there will probably be another rebellion, and it will all lead to more elven deaths! Is that what you wanted?"

That would be a problem, Fenris mused, looking away from the elves gathered around the table to the rest of the room. Initially he had been ushered into a small hovel, but there had been a passageway built into the earth, leading to a hollowed out space of impressive size. It might have compared to a room in a villa in terms of space, rather than the closet of a home above them. His mind briefly flickered to a warren of rabbits. They did look like rabbits, the drawn faces of those within. There were some number of them, most either too old or too young. It was a thing of much difficulty to find healthy, strong elves in the city, let alone free them.

The old man he had come with lay sitting by the fireplace, doted on by a young girl who gave him a bowl of stew. A salve had been applied to the scars, and a cane now lay at his side. A few children sat at his feet, playing with toys either too old or too broken to have been of any fun. Other sparse groups were situated throughout the space, all huddled together. They either talked in voices too low to be heard, or were merely too scared to talk. Some of them even cast furtive looks towards him. He could not blame them: the lines on his skin marked him as a creature to be feared, a tool of the people that had enslaved them.

More arguing came from the center of the room, from the two elves bickered at. He saw a gesture made towards him, and brought his ears back around to the dispute.

"And that one? What of that one? He's a mage's boy, no doubt. You don't get marks like those for bad behavior. How do you expect for him to blend into the crowd? To evade notice? He's like a prized pet..."

He growled at that, and began to step forward...

"A prized pet that his master will notice the absence of. There's no way he'd get past the golems unseen. "

"There is a way. We are nothing if not clever and he comes with us. I do not break my promises." She looked to him again as she approached the table, and stepped aside to reveal its contents. It was a map of Thedas, worn and stained, but generally whole. She placed her finger on the tip of the northern coast, to their location. "We cannot risk sea voyage. It takes too much time to leave the port, and the danger of the water is increased with the Qunari war. Besides, if we were discovered on board, there would be no place for us to go...We will have to leave via the gates. I know you have carts at your disposal, Suran...The majority of us can be disguised be as slaves, leaving the city along the highway. He..."

She looked to Fenris, before turning to the wiry elf. "He will have to be hidden. Isn't there a false bottom you use for contraband? He's skinny enough - it would be uncomfortable, but it would work. Cover it with hay, and have a ward placed upon it. Fill it with the old ones, and have the young chained to the back. Our human contact shall drive, and I shall remain outside to deal with distractions."

The elf Suran shrugged. "It would work. Simple, too bare-bones - but it would work. We usually take a larger cart for more people, and draft a bill of sale in the other city to make it legitimate trade. We'll have to wait for a large enough caravan to make the trip. They don't suspect us when we're among the real thing, and then we simply slip away..."

She shook her head, "Too long to wait. You're right in that things will be tight when the Magister is discovered. We have to leave tomorrow. And if you are-" The elf looked to Fenris, "As Suran says, then we need to get you out as soon as possible."

He breathed in deeply. He didn't like this sort of scrutiny, this sort of...bias, but what could he do? Here was freedom. "It is so." was the begrudging reply he managed.

The woman nodded in affirmation. "Then it is settled. We give the other a few hours rest, and start the preparations. Will we have enough of the wafers? And then the incense. I want enough to get us through Tevinter territory." She turned away to Suran, "No dreams to give us away, no trace of Tevinter sticking to us. We need to be invisible." The elf nodded in reply, "Everything will be ready. This isn't the first time we've done this, you know."

She shrugged her shoulders, "Isn't the first time haven't rushed a job either. And once we pass into the Silent Plains, crossing into Nevarra...It will get so much easier." At that, Suran looked at her, tilting his head to the side, "Couldn't you go to Weisshaupt for asylum? It's so much closer, and you are-"

"No." The words had barely been uttered before she responded, hand closing into a fist on the table. "They remain neutral, or are supposed to. Tevinter slaves smuggled out of the city, asking for aid and protection? Far from neutral, friend. Far from neutral."

He did not know much of this Weisshaupt, and once more the conversation turned meaningless to him. He found himself gravitating towards the smoky fire, sitting across from the old elf. What had the woman called him? Valendrian. Valendrian looked to him with his tired eyes, giving a nod to him as he young elf that attended him held out a bowl of stew to Fenris. Gathering food had not been a problem with his...unique abilities, but some vague sense of etiquette dictated he take the offered food. He brought the shallow bowl to his lips, taking a sip and trying not to wrinkle his nose at the acrid smell. When he brought the bowl to his lap, he looked to the elf. "What is she to you? What are you to her?"

The old elf smiled, undaunted by Fenris' direct manner, "I was the elder who officiated her marriage...I have known her since she was a baby."

"Where are you from, then?" He asked. It made sense enough that she would search for him, at least.

"Denerim, in Ferelden. You...have heard of our recent troubles?"

"The Blight, you mean. It was a topic often discussed at my master's table." They had been vague rumors at best in the beginning, but the appearance and death of an Archdemon - it had set the entire city alight with talk and rumors and stories.

"Aye, the Blight. But it was before: in the chaos preceding the Darkspawn Horde, the nobles made a bargain with Tevinter slavers in order to fund their civil wars. There had been rumors of plague within the Alienage, and they captured many of us under the guise of aid..."

He felt the bile rise in his throat - his fingers curled within the metal gauntlet. "Why did she not stop it then?"

"Does she seem like an alienage elf to you? She had been...taken away. A year before - more problems with the nobility. We thought she was dead." Dead - She had mentioned...

"Valora. She had mentioned that name before she came for you...Who is she?"

"She was-" "She was my cousin's wife. " The woman sat between them, ladling a small amount of stew into another bowl. "A good woman, whose life was just starting before it was snuffed out." She brought it to her lips, pausing before tipping her head back and swallowing its contents whole. After she swallowed, she gave him a direct look, "Was he your master, the one I killed?"

_If only_. "No." He grumbled, taking another idle sip. "I do not think you would have it so easy if it was. The one you killed - I knew him. Slothful, flabby cretin of a man. "

"Then I am glad he is dead. Stinking shem. But...why were you there, then?"

"Not all of us have such dangerous friends willing to take such risks for us. We have to make due."

He watched her out of the corner of his eye, saw her leaning back. and looking at the bowl. "It's a step up from rat, meat at least...Well then, fortune smiles on us, that we have similar aims. You've a name I can call you by?"

He did. It felt wrong on his tongue, but it was the only name he knew. "My master called me Fenris. That will do."

She slapped him on the back, her lips quirked in a smile though her voice gave no sign of mirth, "Well then, Fenris, I'm sorry freedom tastes so bitter! You best get some sleep, but do not expect any dreams. It's the sephlin that makes it so...but keeps our minds as stone. Can't find us then, if your blood mages look through the Fade."

He would take umbrage of being drugged without his knowledge, if freedom wasn't dangled in front of him. "And you? You have a name?"

She looked at him and smiled, "Call me Sylrien."


	3. The Gates of Minrathous

**Hope you're all enjoying it! As always, please read and review. I'd love to hear your feedback!**

Fenris smelled like piss and he was sure he was covered in bruises. This was not his grand dream of escape, full of blood and triumph: this was humiliating.

It all started in the middle of the night. As promised, the bitter stew brought about an empty sleep - it was dreamless, if not particularly restful - and he was grateful for that. Yet it felt like mere minutes after he had closed his eyes, that he was jerked away. The elf woman, Sylrien, was nudging him gently, whispering, "Fenris? Fenris, it's time to go. We need to leave now."

"Now? Has something happened?" He reached for a sword that wasn't there, eyes wide and alert.

"No, but we leave without Suran's knowledge. It is the way things are done - he can deny knowing when we left, if we left at all. Precautions, you see."

The danger of the situation now laid heavy on him. He thought for a moment of resisting, but to what would he go back to? This was his only chance, but just when he strengthened his resolve and got up to make ready, another obstacle presented itself:

Dwarf sweat.  
Specifically, a concoction made from distilled dwarf sweat.

Sylrien had given him a strained smile, trying to talk the vile stuff up, but it only made his stomach turn even more. "It's...it's not just dwarf sweat, but a mixture of things, really. It's supposed to act as a cloaking device against magical detection. Whatever those markings are, they aren't normal. If they have something to do with magic - and I've seen things involving magical tattoos before - we need to take care of them. You need to take care of them."

He stared at her, before giving the slightest of nods. He hated confirming this, "Lyrium beneath my skin." Perhaps if he didn't have to explain, he might avoid the...dwarf sweat.

No such luck. "Then you need it. I thought I saw them glow in dark. You've five minutes, and they need to be covered in it. You can wash as soon as we get to a safe spot, you've my word."

She turned to leave him, moved to help pack something for the old elf. At this moment, Fenris would rather be old than being covered in...dwarf sweat. He turned his back to the others, and began to disrobe.

So now he smelled like the piss of a dwarf with an infected bladder. He doubted it was really dwarf sweat. Dwarf sweat couldn't possibly smell like this. He was in the cramped compartment beneath bales of hay, The others, including the woman, were smudged with earth and fit with false collars - walking behind the cart, chains connecting them to the back. Dwarf sweat, really?

Magic was never good, and this was just further proof.

But all his complaints died when he realized where they were: the gates.

The gates of Minrathous spoke to the former glory of the Tevinter Imperium. They were massive, nearly as tall as the spires, with large stone figures of archons flanking the wooden doors. Yet all the imposing architecture in the world could not compare to living stone. The juggernauts, gifts to the Tevinter Imperium from dwarves ages past, loomed overhead. Though Fenris had never seen many golems, he was sure they were not supposed to be like this. They were like small mountains - blocking out the sun when they moved overhead - and how they moved! He was never so close passing through these gates as a free man, yet even he was apprehensive at their chances.

To pass through the gates, one needed a few things: the first was a manifest of all goods going in or out. Magical items had to be declared and marked with a seal of approval and note of ownership. Such items had become increasingly rare during Tevinter's decline and just as there were rings to smuggle out slaves, there were black markets and rings to smuggle out bewitched items. Once documentation was in order, there would be a scan of sorts, administered by a low level clerk in order to detect traces of lyrium, or anything else abnormal. Finally, a visual inspection was administered.

It didn't sound so imposing, or so difficult - but this was all done while one of the golems held their foot above the proceedings - ready to come smashing down on party and clerk alike. Tevinter did not let go of its possessions, be they flesh or steel, easily.

For now, all he could do was wait. He hated it: Fenris was a man of action, he was a man who did not hide in the shadows (conveniently forgetting the past few nights he spent loitering in the dark corners of capital). Here, shoved into a box that was much too similar to a coffin for his liking, he was totally dependent on the driver, and on the woman he had met only a night before.

The clerk this time was sickly pale, with bloodshot eyes set behind wide-framed least, that was how Fenris imagined the man to be from the sound of his voice.

"Name and destination, Citizen. And your credentials..."

The wood around him creaked with the weight of elves sitting atop him in the wagon. His ears twitched as he heard the driver spit, and then the rustling of papers. "Lloror Septimus, to Vol Dorma, of the Slaver House Septimus, Citizen." There was a slight humpffing noise, but Fenris was unable to tell who it came from. The cart suddenly seemed cooler, and he knew what that meant: the foot of the golem looming over head, as these 'credentials' were checked.

"And your purpose, with the slaves - six total. Two children, boys, and four adults, two men and two women...?" The clerk was sniffing and snorting, his voice changing directions - he must have been circling them.

"Transport to Vol Dorma, Citizen. There's a bill of sale there, to one Lord Calethinuous. Some fer a little work, some fer a little pleasure."

The sound of footsteps ceased, followed by a slight snort of feminine indignation, and then a chuckle from the clerk. "Pleasure indeed. As per order thirteen, part four-C, do you have any magical items you are compelled to declare, and are you willing to submit to a scan?"

"Naw, and yessir, Citizen. Be careful with that one, though. The Lord wants 'er unmarred. Plans, if ye know what I'm saying..."

"Ah, I see. Well then, we shall not disappoint." The voice grew quiet, and Fenris could barely hear the words of magic being whispered over the site. He yearned for a crack in the wood to appear, so that he might see what was going on and alleviate some of this mounting tension, but none were within reach. He waited for the inevitable sound of discovery, of the command to bring the foot of the golem down on them all - seconds once more seemed to drag like hours, and he dug his fingers into his palm. It was all he could do, the only way he could move. Each moment of silence convinced him more and more that they were discovered, that he would need to free himself and move faster than he ever had to in his life if he wanted to li-

"Well then, Citizen, all clear. Good journeys to Vol Dorma..."

The wheels began to turn, and he heard the driver give a grunt of thanks. He finally let out a breath-

"Wait, Citizen. Wait. What was the slaver house you belonged to again?"

The wheels grinded to a halt, and he felt a flurry of panic begin to build in his breast. "Why, House o' Septimus, Citizen. Tell 'em Lloror sent you fer a ten-percent discount on a girl. We're in the southern district, near the Spire of Calamius."

The clerk chuckled, "Gratitude, Citizen. On your way."

Fenris went limp as the wheels turned once more, and it seemed, for now, they were clear. The box was warm again, and that could only mean one thing: They had passed the golem; they had cleared the gates. He had escaped the capital.

They had remained on the Imperial Highway until nightfall before he felt activity. Fenris had been lulled to sleep by the clattering of hoofs against the stone, only to wake again as the wheels collided with a bump or broken tile. When it finally came to a halt, he felt neither rested nor awake. The was a shifting of weight of the boards above him - hushed whispers and hurried movements, before finally the boards were pried away, and he was greeted by Sylrien's face, framed by the moon overhead.

"Easy part's over, friend. You ready for a walk?"

"I would welcome one," he replied gruffly, taking her extended hand to haul himself up and out of the cart. The rest of them seemed to already by scaling the side of the highway, down to the ground below. The other elven woman, Kaillan was what she had been referred as back within the city, was scrubbing her skin of some invisible taint, "To think, that shem touching me that way; his hands and his eyes..."

"Best that is all it was, and he wasn't overcome enough to offer purchase," Sylrien chimed in, gesturing to the rope. "Down there, Fenris. Cache of supplies set up for our journey. And you, Lloror Septimius, of House Septimius. You're the finest actor this side of the Rialto Bay."

"Rialto Bay? I'd say Amaranthine Sea. Just hope that clerk doesn't go looking for his discount anytime soon. The lost heir to Septimius' business isn't exactly qualified to give out discounts!" The man straightened his back, seemed to set his jaw, and was transformed into a whole other person. He opened his arms to Sylrien, who in turn embraced him.

"Well, whoever they are, if you were really their lost heir, they'd be very lucky. The Black Fox is a familial tie anyone would be lucky to have!." She broke into a wide grin, laughter in her voice. It was pleasant sound to Fenris' ears.

With a layer of grime removed, the man appeared to turn younger, and the blanket that had been draped across his seat had turned into a cloak, revealing a compartment suited for a saddle. The horse pulling the cart turned mount, and the human bowed his head to the group as he swung himself up and into the saddle. "Will do, my lovely! And till we next run into each other again!"

Sylrien shot off a salute, before looking over her shoulder. "Fenris, Kaillan. The cart. Help me push it over the side."

His temporary tomb was soon overturned, shattering as it hit the earth below. Satisfied, Sylrien began to usher the rest of the party down the rope, pausing to look at the retreating figure. One of the children tugged at the grimy dress she wore, and as Fenris began to climb down the rope, he caught only a bit of the conversation.

"That wasn't the real Black Fox, was it?"

"Of course not. The real Black Fox has been living in Estwatch for a number of decades. It's...an inherited title."


	4. Rest

**Author's note: Hey guys! Well, I hope you're enjoying everything so far - I do hope that I'm keeping Fenris in character - it's my greatest concern. Part 4: In which tensions rise, stories are told, and a bath is taken. As always, please drop me a review and let me know how you like the story! I get so nervous .**

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Two weeks passed by without incident. They would spend about eleven hours a day, sometimes more - using every little bit of daylight they could to put more space between them and Minrathous and shorten the time spent in Tevinter lands.

Each night, they would take those thin flakey wafers with a little bit of bread and water.

Each morning, they would rise with little sleep and even less rest.

It was wearing on all of them: Valendrian would stumble more and more; Kailian and the other other elf, a teenager by the name of Terric, would grumble and complain as the circles beneath their eyes grew darker and darker; the two children, both, Fenris surmised, under the age of ten, whined and whimpered. All of the adults, save Valendrian, who was too weak, would take turns carrying them on their shoulders. Sylrien was the most unaffected, but he could tell that she was moving slower - her senses were dulling. He felt it too, though he was more afraid of what would happen if dreams came to him, what he would find there.

He wasn't too concerned with what he would find out in the wilds. A flat broadsword of middling quality was strapped to his back. He was used to finer weapons, but any sort of blade was welcome: The wolf had teeth once more. It was from the cache Sylrien had revealed beneath the highway. It had held her own weapons: two slender blades of fine craftsmanship, and her own armor. It was refreshing to see another elf in something other than rags. It was a leather tunic of Chasind make, stopping just below the knee. Two slits were cut high to her upper thighs, and laces barely kept the hole, that gaped across her chest, exposing a smooth expanse of flesh and the interior curves of her breasts, in place. Supple leather boots, gloves, and pauldrons completed the rest. If he had been unclear before, he was not now: She was one those fighters that relied on stealth and speed than brute force show of strength.

Despite the endless marching, it allowed him moment for introspection. What would he do now? It would only be a matter of time before his absence would be noticed. He had tried escape before, but it always ended up back at the feet of his master. Would Daranious call upon him to slaughter this group of companions? Could he resist him? A confrontation was inevitable. He had thought about leaving in the night, abandoning them to make his own way in the world...But where else would he go, other than the direction they were travelling? And those wafers, and whatever those balls of incense Sylrien carried - they were some sort of defense against magic, and that was something he did not have. Nor food, nor water...He was dependant on this group, and it infuriated him. Yet there was a sense of comfort in their numbers: the deafening silence of solitary travelling was avoided. Furthermore, there was...something almost domestic about their party. He was sure he had a family at one point, though he remembered nothing of them. He might have been the stranger in their group, but he was still a part of it.

Introspection kept him from seeing the teenaged elf, Terric, from stopping, from throwing down his pack in frustration.

"I can't do it anymore! I need sleep - I need real sleep. We're out of sight of the highway. I haven't seen any villages or cities for days - not even another person! We have to stop. I can't go on! We can't!"

Valendrian made to hush him, but the boy continued to rant. "My feet hurt. All our feet hurt. I didn't flee Tevinter to have my feet fall off and drop dead-"

Fenris snarled, rounding about on his heel to cuff him. "Fool. You want to head back? Would you rather bleed for the mages' spells or serve as a cocksu-"

The boy tried to duck, but a teenager was no match for a warrior, and he fell, scrambling back as he spit back words, "I didn't leave one hell for another! And who in the Maker's name are you to touch me? You're not one of us! I don't know you! It's because of you we're in this rush - everyone thinks so, and-"

"Terric, silence. He is one of us, and I will hear no words to the contrary." Sylrien stepped forward, putting herself in between the two men. "The midday sun has already begun to fall. We will find a safe place and make camp there, and sleep. Really sleep, and begin mid-morning. We'll fill our bellies and rest our feet." She knelt to retrieve the pack that Terric had thrown down, tossing it back at the elf. "Now move." As she turned away, Fenris was left glowering at the boy, who returned the look with his own evil glare.

They kept marching, though the tension was as thick in the air as the stench of the dwarf sweat he had not yet managed to rid himself of.

She had led them to a copse of cypress trees, which turned out to be the beginning of a larger grove. It was not quite a forest, but it was suitable enough cover. The real treasure lay in the sound of rushing water. Further on in, it opened up to a pool, fed by a small waterfall. It seemed to turn into a little creek - though the dark waters betrayed how deep the water was. An audible sigh seemed to come from the weary group at the sight of their leader swinging a pack from her shoulders at the water's edge as she said, "Here. This will do."

The children cheered and broke into a sprint towards the shore, joined in by Terric. As they played along the water's edge, the rest of them set up camp. It wasn't an involved process: a dug out pit for a fire, the spreading of blankets and unwrapping of parcels of food.

Fenris let the heavy chestplate fall aside, he discarded the gloves with their wicked points - he was shirtless for the first time in what felt like aeons. He pulled his arms back, stretched them overhead - gave a soft groan of contentment as he felt the cool air on his skin. He closed his eyes, only to open them as he heard a gasp. Fenris swung around to find Valendrian, Kaillian and Sylrien all looking at him. Valendrian turned away, while Kaillan's eyes were wide with...It wasn't fear, but it was close. Sylrien showed no expression on her features, before giving him a slight nod. "Come with me," She said, her voice quiet as she walked past him, "We're getting something to eat. Terric?" Flanked by the two children, the boy looked even younger. She took one of her swords, holding the hilt out to him. "Shout if you see anything, anything at all. We will not be far." The boy puffed out his chest, taking the sword and bracing his hands around the hilt; it was hard to keep from laughing at the sight. Afterwards, she turned to Fenris and gestured towards the deeper weeds. "Feel like eating something other than bread and jerky?"

He did.

-

The fruit of their labor produced two skinny rabbits and a squirrel. Lack of cooking utensils ensured they were tough and charred beyond recognition, yet to the party of elves, it was a feast, aided by Kaillan coaxing the mess into an edible stew. The two children were already fast asleep, worn out from playing in the water and with bellies full, with Terric trying to stave off sleep to join in the conversation between the adults. The woods around them were alive with the soft hum of nocturnal activity, and they fended off the chill of the evening with stories and songs. Of particular note was a rather entertaining song and dance by the two women, a saucy ditty that had the tips of the boy's ears turning red. Fenris empathized with the young man; the women were beautiful when smiling and laughing, and the general tone of the evening even caused a smile to creep over his lips.

"We've talked about old times, about the alienage, about Denerim, what has happened back home, but where have you been, Sylrien? What have you done since the Blight ended?" Valendrian asked. Fenris' eyes opened wide at the question, turning to Sylrien in order to hear her response.

"It's not a happy tale - I left Denerim after the Grey Warden slew the Archdemon. I was...The people I had travelled with split to go their own ways, and I was left alone. I decided that my goal in life was to reunite with my family. I could not settle down in the alienage with Cyrion as he wished, not as it was. I travelled to Amaranthine to assist in the rebuilding there, and help clear out the vestiges of Darkspawn. The Wardens had been gifted the lands by Ali-by the King. I ran into a group of elves very similar to this, and once the battle passed - and it was a great battle, but that is a story for another time - I went to join in this effort. Ferelden is my home, but it is not complete without you-" She leaned over to ruffle Terric's hair, "You sorry excuses for elves." Her lips turned in a wry smile, "I'm awful at stories. We need to sleep."

Her tone turned commanding, and the other elves obeyed. The youngest three were already grouped together on the blanket, with the old man and the other woman flanking them, huddling close for warmth. Only Sylrien and himself remained, opposite each other, the fire between them.

"Not a fan of sleep, I assume?" She was the first one to speak, crossing her legs as she leaned forward. The dim light cast an orange glow over her features.

"As you are, I assume?" He retorted, letting that smile grow a little wider.

She smirked, reaching for her pack. "Sleep isn't what I fear, Fenris, but the dreams. They are not easy to endure."  
His brow furrowed at that, "Then we having something in common."

She gave a short bitter laugh, before pulling something out of her pack: a flask. His eyebrow quirked upward, and she gave another short laugh. "Seems we have something else in common too." Sylrien tossed the thing over to him, gesturing. "Guests first."

"Comforting to know that hospitality still exists out in the wild." He unscrewed the cap, bringing the flask to his lips. It was a liquor of origin he could not quite place. It burned like fire down his throat, but he welcome the pain. He grunted, cleared his throat and handed it over.

She took it, tipping her head towards him in thanks. "Well, to err is...to be human. We can't have that now, can we?"

The joke turned his smile to a grin, and he gave a hearty laugh, "No, I imagine not - even if we tried."

The flask changed hands as they shared in the laugh, with her adding a, "At least you don't smell like a dwarf's ballsack anymore. I dare say you're quite fetching when you're cleaned up." He blanched, felt the tips of his own ears burn at that. His hand briefly covered his face as he shook his head, leaving her in peels of laughter. Fenris managed, what was in his mind, a weak retort. "I feel obliged to replay your...compliment. You aren't intolerably ugly either, when you aren't covered in bits of Mage blood."

Sylrien feigned offense, "What? Blood and tits not my best look? I see what sort of elf you are, then."

Fenris shook his head, holding up his hands in a sign of defeat, "It's not the...tits, as you say, that I have issue with. I rather appreciated the opportunity of seeing them." Another sip from the flask burned its way down his throat, and he leaned over to pass the flask to her for the final time.

A glint appeared in her eye, and instead of reaching out her hand to take it from him as she had done before, she moved, leaning forward to roll her shoulders to the front, pressing the visible cleavage together. A saucy pout decorated her lips, and Sylrien winked at him, "Glad you enjoy the view." Her flask was retrieved, and returned to its place in her pack. When she returned, that sly smile still played about her lips, though the subject had regretfully changed, "Evade those dreams you fear just a little longer, and take first watch. Wake me when you feel you can no longer hold off sleep."

He nodded, offering a soft, "Sleep well, Sylrien. I...hope your dreams are not as you fear, either."

She didn't respond, but only gave him a slight nod. She did not sleep apart from the rest of the elves, laying on the ground pressed against Kailan's back, an arm slung protectively over her, and the child sleeping snug against the other elf woman.

Fenris? He sat back, looking at the fire.

-

He vaguely remembered waking her up, and falling asleep himself. He dreamt of Minrathous, and of Darinious. He could feel the lyrium pulse beneath his skin; he was desperate to tear it out; but it leached into the earth beneath him, it raced through the ground, leaving a bright, blazing blue trail from the woods to the capital, through the streets, to the spire...

Fenris opened his eyes. The sky above was gray, and the birds were chirping softly somewhere in the distance. Dark gray smoke plumed from the embers, creating swirls in the air. He had finally found a bit of earth that didn't have a rock beneath it, some distance from the group. His eyes were half closed, still somewhere in the state between dreaming and waking - though when he saw Sylrien, he eagerly joined the waking world.

She was standing with her back to him, divested of everything except for the light leather tunic. She cracked her neck, curled her toes into the earth beneath her feet, before gingerly dipping the tip of her big toe in the water, before taking a step into the pool. Maybe he moved, for her head snapped behind her in his direction - he quickly shut his eyes and feigned sleep.

Satisfied that none had woken, she continued. The laces of her tunic were pulled loose, and she pulled the fabric over her head, discarding it in a pile with the rest of her things. His breath caught in his throat at the sight: She was softer than he though, all smooth plans of flesh, only occasionally marred by thin white scars. He watched her run her fingers along her body, catching the scars - pausing as she touched them. She rolled her shoulders, tilted her head from side to side, trying to rid herself of tension. Finally, she waded into the deep waters, diving beneath the surface.

Fenris paused for a moment - should he interrupt this moment alone? Should he join her? The night before, he remembered the smirk, the invitation to 'enjoy the view'...Should he enjoy more than the view? He was a man, and she, a woman. He stood, taking less time to disrobe than she did. He needed, at least, to wash the taint of the dream-memory of Darinious, and perhaps, the real memory of his touch. Hers would not be an unpleasant replacement.

As he saw her surface at the far end, he dived into the water.

The water was clear enough that he could see the outline of her form as he moved closer, could see that her back was turned to him. He kicked his legs for that final push, surfacing behind her. She looked over her shoulder, but did not turn. Her lips had been parted in a gasp, her hair slick and matte against her skin. One of his hands snaked around her waist, pulling her back against him as the other traced the loose tendrils of hair back behind her pointed ears. She did not struggle when he grabbed her, did not struggle when she felt his hips press against the back of her own.

"I...saw that you did not manage to escape your dreams." She whispered, one of her hands disappearing beneath the water to stroke the top of his hand.

"No, nor did you. Who is it that you cry out for? A dead man?" He brought his lips close to her ear, and brushed them against the tip. He felt her body tense, felt her shudder. He felt himself respond to her soft form against his own.

"No..." Sylrien replied, her voice hoarse. "Just, one that would not have me." "A fool, then," Again he murmured, nearly growled at the thought. With her hair neatly arranged, he left his free hand now travel around her, this time, daring to cup her breast.

She arched her back against him, as another gasp dropped from her lips. "And...what of you? Who is the man you run from?" Another growl rumbled low in his throat, the hand at her breast squeezing tightly as his tongue found the rim of her ear.  
Sylrien laughed as much as she could, before the sound was cut short by his grip, "Ah...Not a fool then, to want...to want you so."

Fenris stiffened as he felt her squirm against him, and he dropped the hand about her waist, slid it down her torso, adding hoarsely "I say we should both forget them."

Her hands slid behind her, slid along the outlines of his own hips, "If only for a time?" She asked, breath heavy with want. He nodded, moving his lips to the lobe of her left ear, down to her neck, "Yes..." He panted against her skin, "If only for a time."


	5. Interruptions

**Author's Note: Well, hope that cliffhanger of sorts didn't leave ya'll wanting. But nothing good can ever last, at least, not in the DA 'verse. So please, as always, enjoy. If you could, leave me a review - I'm paranoid about what folks are thinking about the story - I would appreciate it! **

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She had turned to face him, to press her lips against his, to press her body against his. His right arm was locked about her waist, his left hand free to wander along her body. He shuddered as he felt her fingers run along the edges of his ears - the revulsion of someone touching him turned into an urgent need for her to touch him...Fenris felt her breath on his lips, a ghost of a kiss, before cupping her head with his hand, tilting her head back so so he could press his lips against hers with the hunger he felt growing inside of him-

But there was a cry from their camp across the pool of water. They pushed away from each other to see what the cause was. One of the children, the little girl was calling out, "Men! Men!" Their eyes met - he saw in her eyes, not fear for herself, but for the others. They wasted no time in pushing off from the ground, racing to close the distance between them and their group.

None of the party paid mind to their nakedness as they left the water - they were too busy dousing the fire, too busy rolling up the blankets, the little food left over from the morning meal. "What happened?" She shouted, pulling the tunic over her head, hopping on one foot in order to pull the boot up over the other. Terric was the one to speak first, her sword still in his hand, "Illiyana, she had wandered out a bit - she never left my sight! I-To use the bushes, but she came running back saying she saw a group of men coming, heading straight to us..."

Fenris looked to the boy in between hastily pulling his shirt over his head, sticking his legs through his trousers, trying to fit his armor into place. His heart pounded in his chest: so soon? Had they led them straight to the group with their one night of unprotected sleep? Were his dreams-

This was not a time for questions. The camp was sparse enough that it was soon dismantled, Kaillian readying the children, trying to soothe their fears, despite the fact the group shared the very same sentiment. "The incense. Valendrian, they were in your pack, the parcel - there are three."

"Bombs? Explosives?" Fenris snapped his head towards Sylrien. She shook her head, "Not quite. Too dangerous." Valendrian produced the parcel, and she dropped a small ball into her palm before handing the bag back to the old man. "A distraction. We were going to follow the river, cross it into the Nevarra, but they will expect that..." As her hand closed around the ball, she gestured to his sword, now in Fenris' hands. "Are you as good with that as you look?"

He grinned, lips pulling back to reveal a feral grin. "You've no idea."

Not a moment was wasted. Terric kicked dirt over the smoldering embers to dampen the thin strips of smoke, before he was ushered by Sylrien along the edge of the river. "Follow it. When we were hunting yesterday, I spied a indentation - not quite a cave, where the creek turns into a river. We will buy you time to get there, to hide. Do not come for us, no matter what you hear."

The boy had fear in his hands, his knuckles white around the hilt of the dagger Sylrien had given him. She placed her hands around his shoulders, looking him in the eye. "Do not fear. You are the most capable after Fenris and I. If we are not there within the hour, follow the river till you spy the outskirts of Nessum. There is money in one of the packs you and Kaillan are carrying - cross before you reach Nessum, and head south. You will reach the Imperial Highway, and take it to Cumberland. You can do this-"

They could hear the sounds of men moving through the woods, the crackling of twigs underfoot, the brush being hacked out of the way. Sylrien shook her head, pushing Terric away, "Go!"

He nodded, and turned to lead the rest away. Sylrien stood, looking over to Fenris. He smiled, before the lyrium in his flesh glowed bright, brighter still till he was translucent - dashing ahead.

They were maroon against the lush greenery: Tevinter men. It made it all the more easier for him to fight them, to hate them. Fenris phased through the underbrush, picking up swing as he swung the sword in a wide arc, catching one unaware, and now, lying in half. The next, the closest one to him, froze in shock. That was good, that means they weren't expecting him...And it made things so simple. He solidified in front of the man, before pushing his hand - now translucent, through his chest. He felt the weighty heart organ pulse as he closed his fingers around it, and he squeezed. The other warrior gave a gasp of pain, choking on air as Fenris dug his fingers in until he felt the organ burst under his grip. His hand slide out just as easily, in time for him to turn his head to see a crossbow bolt coming straight towards him-

Deflected by Sylrien's sword. She bobbed and weaved through the foliage, disappearing behind trees only to reappear behind a hapless man. She crossed her blades an X, pulling her arms back as the man's neck caught in the crook of her blades, soon separating his head from the rest of his body.

Though they had slain the initial three, they could hear more shouts, noise of more coming. Fenris' nostrils flared: he could smell Lyrium in the air. He dug his heels into the earth beneath, tightened his grip on the hilt of the broadsword. He would see them all ended-

Only to have Sylrien grab his arm, and pull him towards the direction of the rest of the group. "We have to go! Now!" He looked at her in disbelief, but she persisted, leaning her head in: "This is not a war, not our war. We've a duty to the others - we must go *now*." Again she pulled at his arm, and again he resisted - he was not a coward. If they were coming, he would fight them until they stopped coming, until they learned that he was not sport...

But in that split-second,he looked at her, refusing to leave either him or the group of elves behind...He relented, he stepped towards her, sheathing his sword in the process. "Fine. Let's go."

She flashed him a smile, and turned to run as the shouts of their assailants drew nearer.

They ran at a breakneck pace, feet flying over the ground. He had a vague idea of the place she had mentioned, the alcove roofed by a thicket of roots, where the river widened - but when they reached that place, she stopped. The wrapped bit of 'incense' she had taken was produced, and she bit into it, cracking the ball. A fine plume of smoke erupted from the ball, and she shouted, "Across the river! Quickly!"

The shouts of the men pursuing them echoed her sentiment, "They're crossing the river! After them!" She throw the smoldering ball across the stream, before dropping, swinging down into the alcove where the other elves were hidden. Fenris followed suit. They were all pressed into the sides, so tightly packed they if they could, he was sure, they would have melded with the earth.  
Fenris was keenly aware of the beating of his heart. His ears twitched at the thudding of feet over them. He and Sylrien had themselves braced around the others, and he felt the closest one to him - the younger boy, Alanric, tremble. He squeezed his shoulder in an awkward gesture of reassurance.

He looked to Sylrien - her expression was stoic, but her attention was turned towards where she had thrown the smoking ball. Illiyana whimpered, only to have Kaillan hush her. They waited - the feet above them paused. "Did you hear that?"

Fenris tensed, one hand moving to the hilt of the sword on his back. Sylrien batted his hand away, placing a finger over her lips, before pointing to where she had thrown the ball.

A sound erupted from the other bank across the water. It was the sound of a scream, of multiple voices shouting and the pounding of feet, the crackling of of brush being crunched underfoot.

The men above them rushed in that direction - he watched their backs as they splashed across the shallow waters. "There! Get them! Hurry!"

Soon they disappeared from view, their cries turning softer. The danger had passed.

Sylrien was the first move, helping the youngest up the steep sides of the bank they were on. "East - run east. Hurry, before they discover the ruse..."

"What was that?" He pulled himself up and extending his hand to help Valendrian, and then Sylrien. As she used his arm to pull herself back up on the side, she shook her head. "It's a screamer. A bomb, of sorts. Sounds enough like people to throw them off the scent." She took her pack from Kaillan, hoisting it over her back. "We can't stop, though. They'll realize it soon enough...I had hoped to cross the river, but we'll have to go through the Silent Plains instead..." Her lips pursed into a thin line, before shaking her head.

Again they ran. They ran through the night, spurred on by the thought of their pursuers just beyond sight behind them. Days passed: there was no chance for restless nights, for dreamless sleeps under such a threat. The group seemed to have renewed purpose, and he felt a growing paranoia whenever there was a sound unaccounted for, a bit of movement out of the corner of his eye.

Before long, they arrived at the Plains.


	6. The Silent Plains

**Author's note: Thank you, ShyWriter and Caralina for the reviews! And thank you for your criticisms, ShyWriter. I understand what you mean - hopefully, the issues will be cleared up in further chapters. I tried to make it so that 1. Fenris was impressed with a group/person that didn't balk at him and immediately accepted him without question, and 2. I figured that a little 'lurvin' of the completely physical sort wouldn't be so out of character, given that if you don't romance him, he occasionally hooks up with Isabella, of all people. If that doesn't come across so clearly, I may work that problem out in revision. This was only lightly beta-read from a friend, so...yeah. Thank you so much! And enjoy the next chapter, which will feature something familiar to you DA players.**

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The Silent Plains were so named because nothing lived there; nothing grew there. It fluctuated between two scenarios: baking, suffocating heat and torrential downpours that flooded the rocky landscape. The Imperial Highway stood out like a marble line, cutting through the sandy brown landscape, the only thing not guaranteed to flood during the rains.

There were rumors that the drastic differences in its climate were due to a mercurial sorceress that lived in one of the thousand caves that dotted the landscape - it would explain the stark contrast between the grasslands that served as the border around the plains.

Fenris' feet ached. They had been moving non-stop for what must have been a week. He could barely remember the number of times he had seen the sun set and the moon rise. The sun beat hard and hot overhead; it seemed the breezes that ruffled the grasslands died upon approaching the plains.

The rest of the party fared little better. As their leader signaled for them to halt, Terric fell to his knees, and the children would shuffle around, fidgeting and waiting for the command to rest. Valendrian was bad off, his cane long since replaced with a long stick they had found when it snapped in half. Kaillan seemed to be in a daze. Only Sylrien stood, seemingly unaffected, her back to the group as she surveyed the cavern-dotted stone vista.

Fenris longed to discard the sword on his back, longed to to tear the metal plate, that had seemed to grow in weight, from his chest, but the thought that if he did, an arrow would plant itself there, kept his hands still. Their leader remained at the rim of the plains, surveying the sight while they all rested. An hour passed, or so it felt like till she finally turned, clucking her tongue.

"The midday sun has passed. and there are no clouds." She helped pull Terric to his feet, re-adjusting the pack on his back. "It'll take a day. We can sleep -they won't be able to find us in such a maze without being obvious, without being seen.

Fenris gave a gruff nod, pausing only to help Valendrian up from his seat on the ground. He caught Sylrien looking at him, an odd, tiny smile on her lips. He grimaced, and separated himself from the elder elf once he was on his feet. He found himself relaxing when he knew his guard should be up, found himself opening up when he should have been closed off. The last time he had stopped for a few hours and slept, he found the small girl curled up and against his side, and more than a few moments had passed before he pushed her away and awake. There were other moments: showing the two boys how to hold a sword during a brief stop, and it had been his blade that cut the branch Valendrian used as a walking staff. This sense of closeness was something a new sensation he could not stop, and in quiet moments, did not want to stop.

So, as they made their way across the rocky steppes of the plains, he held the hand of Illiyana, grabbing her by the waist in order to pick her up and place her on surer footing along their haphazard path.

The air shimmered under such heat. The glare of the sun against the stone was blinding. Worse, their pace was slow, too slow. between the treacherous climbs and deep ravines, it had to be at a snail's pace. There were times when they were in single file, linked by hands along the side of a cliff.

Whatever luck they held did not hold. Even as they progressed through the maze of stone, clouds formed and fused together to create a gray blanket that blotted out the sun. The relief from the harsh rays lasted only a few moments, for thick, fat droplets began to fall from the sky.

He cursed the gods, or the Maker, or whoever ordained such an event. As the drops began to fall more frequently, their motley group began to slow even more, looking for suitable shelter. Each cave they approached seemed more ominous than the last - their entrances pitch black maws that they were reluctant to enter. Who knew what lurked within? And if the rains turned torrential (and the darkening sky promised such a thing), what if a cave flooded?

Sylrien stopped suddenly, causing everyone in their line to stumble and run into the back of each other. "Here." She lifted her arm, pointing towards the entrance of the cave they passed. "This...this one."

It looked no different than any other cave. "What makes you so sure...?" He was the one to ask. "I don't know. It just...feels right. It's different."

For this group, tired and exhausted, it was enough.

Rain fell hard and fast. It thundered outside, making it sound like the whole world was breaking apart. There had been scraps of dry wood, nearly petrified, within the mouth of the cave...But upon initial search, it went farther down and deeper than they realized. Despite this, none of them made the effort to explore. They were all exhausted. Lightning flashed outside, showing glimpses of landscape, now with water rising and filling those rocky crevasses. They could not build a great fire - there was no way to properly vent it, there was not enough to burn - but the warmth was welcomed compared to the cold promised outside.

Their meal was scant, but the absence of the thin wafers of sephlin seemed to improve the taste. However, when time came to sleep, he was not comfortable enough to join the group that huddled together for warmth. The thunder sounded overhead, and the rain provided a steady stream of sound that soon lulled him to sleep.

_Little wolf, little wolf, do you miss me yet?_

Darinious' voice echoed in his dreams, causing him to wake with a start. It was too clear, too loud to have been a complete dream.

Embers still glowed faintly within the cave. He looked around as his hand closed around the hilt of his sword. There were no other sounds except for the never-ending rain outside...But there was something different in the scene before him. Sylrien was gone, and now there was a dim light punctuating the darkness deeper in the cave. Her pack was still there, piled with the others, but no elf.

He decided, then, to investigate that glow in the black. One hand kept a firm grip on his blade, while the other ran flat against the side of the cave, serving as a guide and support. For a long while, there was nothing except that solitary light in the distance. It steadily grew brighter, larger - until finally, details of his surroundings began to emerge.

The cave emptied into a cavern. Multiple piles of kindling had been lit, casting a dim red glow throughout the room. There was a hole in the end, through, which more illumination was provided. There were corpses littered throughout the room; the stench was overwhelming...

And there was Sylrien, blades drawn and spattered with blood. She was breathing hard, and there was a wild look in her eye he had not seen before.

"Darkspawn." She uttered in between breaths, her grip still tight on her swords. Then a sound: A horn that reverberated throughout the tunnel, follow by growls.

They turned, and ran.

The sound of the horn had woken the others up, and they were stil huddled together with their eyes wide and fearful. There was no time to break camp, no time to pack things up. Packs were taken, and Sylrien and Fenris ushered them outside into the driving rain. He felt like an ant, insignificant against the backdrop of the cave-studded rocks, scurrying about. The only light offered was the flash of lightening that occasionally filled the sky. They were running, caution abandoned in favor of putting enough distance between them and the cave. To stay would have been certain death; to leave was to the only option. There was no debate, nor was there time to have one.

The chasms and ravines were filling with water: black stuff that gushed forth, roared between the stone channels. He thought he could hear roars above the weather, but there was no time to consider if they were real or not.

They reached a dead end - the rock could go no further, and they could not climb up or down. Jumping to another ridge was the only option. He had led the group - he was the first to jump, though it was a practically blind leap of faith. When he landed, he extended his arms out so he could help catch the next person.

Terric was next, he stumbled a little, but Fenris gripped his forearms, pulling the boy up behind him. Kaillan followed. She was scared, and clung to Fenris when he caught her, but when he felt her footing was assured, he pulled her off of him. They were the easy ones, and he dreaded dealing with the youngest and the oldest.

Valendrian tried, he really did. He jumped, but fell short. Fenris felt fear grip his heart as he saw the man begin to fall into the waters below - he shot his arm out-

And grabbed the staff Valendrian clung to. Terric came to help him pull the staff and the elf up. Fenris heard himself bellow, "Don't let go! Hold on!" until finally, the man was raised up enough that he might crawl onto the ground.

The children were next. Alanric was about to jump when Sylrien stopped him: She picked him up, practically tossing him over the ravine - Fenris heard the young girl, Illiyana, cry out - but he was distracted when he felt Alanric's weight push against him, and his arms immediately clasped around the boy, securing him. The others had begun to trudge up the path now opened to them, with only Sylrien and the little girl left.

The rain came down harder. He could see the waters rising still, churning into a black froth below them. Lightning flashed and thunder sounded - he saw Sylrien cry out, but could not hear what she said. She suddenly picked the girl up, wrapping her arms around her, urging the girl to wrap her legs around her waist. She was going to jump. Something she had seen in that flash of thunder spurred her onward. She leapt - springing into the air when...

When something went wrong.

He could not see much, but he could see her eyes widen, jolted forward by some unknown force. She let go of Illiyana, sending her hurtling towards Fenris. She reached out her arm...and began to fall. It was all happening in slow motion. He pushed Illiyana away into the arms of Kaillan; he heard the group shouting something at him, but all he could see was Sylrien falling down into the ravine. Fenris scrambled to the side, reaching his arm down to catch her.  
"No!" he cried, as her fingers - they had seemed so close - seemed to slip through his. He acted fast, pulling off the chestplate, even as he heard the others shouting to join him. She disappeared into the waters below - he dived after her.

He could not see anything in the water. There was no outline of her body. It was just black. The water was shockingly cold, nearly knocking the breath out of him. Fenris flailed his arms about, trying to feel for her, trying to find her and hold onto her before she was swept away by the currents.

The rain continued pouring. The waters continued rising. There was no end to the thunder, or the lightning. The elves standing atop the stone steppe were huddled together, eyes peeled to the turbulent surface of the waters.

Finally, Fenris emerged...His arms wrapped around Sylrien. Valendrian's staff was held out for him to grasp and the small group pulled the pair up.

Fenris sputtered for breath, but she was not breathing. He rose to his knees to look at his companion, to shake her awake. He rolled her on her side: there was an arrow sprouting from the middle of her back. It was dangerous to pull it out, but it was more dangerous to leave it there: he gripped it by its stem, and pulled the arrow out, causing blood to run down her back. Kaillan brought a piece of blanket, pressing it against the wound as he laid her on her back.

He pressed his head to her chest to hear for a sound of the heartbeat. The thunder drowned anything out, if it was there. One of the others cried out; Valendrian knelt near to him, trying to do the same as he did, trying to shake her awake, urging her back to life with words of home and her father.

It did not work.

Fenris pressed his lips against hers, trying to force air into her lungs. He compacted his hands, pressing down on her chest - two, three, four. No sound of breath, no coughing. Again, covering her mouth with his, willing all the air in his lungs to go into hers. Again he pushed down on her chest: nothing.

Seconds passed like hours and that panic rose up in his breast again. She couldn't be dead. Her heart had to start beating-

A thought occurred to him. He had seen it done in surgery upon the battlefield, in the most extreme cases. It was risky, but if there was any chance to was slightly alive, he must try it - but he had no knives, no healers tools. He only had his hands.

His hands.

Fenris leaned over her, placing his hand on her chest. The lyrium markins glowed bright, growing over his body and down his arm, the light enveloping his hand, turning it clear, turning it translucent. He reached inside of her...He find her heart, sluggish and still. He had torn out the hearts of many men, but he had never tried to save one. His fingers closed around the organ - he could feel a low, soft pulse within his hand. He squeezed, he prayed to the Maker that this would work, and released. He waited for the soft throbbing to occur again, and again he squeezed, hard.

She gasped, eyes going wide and back arching. He quickly slid his hand out of her chest, the flesh solidifying as his fingers withdrew from her. She was alive! Sylrien nearly sat up in a giant spasm, gasping and coughing - rolling over to expel the water from her lungs, swallowing lungfuls of air. She was alive. Her body went flat, limp again as her eyes rolled into the back of her head as she swooned, but she, thank the Maker, was alive. He held her closer, if only so that he was sure it was her heart beating against him, his hand pressed against the cloth at her back.

Meanwhile, the rains had stopped. The water began to recede. The lightning and thunder ended...And they were alive. They had survived.

The Maker had granted them another boon: Nothing of note happened on the way out of the Plains. There were no storms. Even the heat seemed to have lessened, but he was not sure if that was because it had actually lessened, or if he was just too happy to notice, with her in his arms. Her breathing was faint and her life still might have been in danger, but she was at least, still breathing.

Fenris found himself in the odd position of leader with Sylrien out of commission. The others deferred to him, and the respect, the sense of belonging to the group was something he was not used to. He had had enough of running and living like vagabonds: once they exited the Silent Plains, he directed them due south to the river, and to the cities of Nevarra. Hunter Fell lay on the north bank of the river, a bustling city of wood and stone. They had finally cleared the Tevinter border; he was a free man now, and he felt that he, along with his group, deserved rest.


	7. Rest Redux

He - not he, they - had found an inn on the outskirts of the city. Thankfully, it was not picky with its clientele, as long as they had coin. They had it, so he secured two connecting rooms for their rag tag party. It also helped that it was located close to the alienage of Hunter Fell.

Fenris could never understand ailenages: they were always rundown, filthy and he found the elves that lived there little more than frightened cattle. The fact that his companions were willing to go back to such a place (for an alienage was an alienage, whether in Denerim or not) never ceased to amaze him...That she had come from such a place, that never ceased to amaze him.

But they responded well to familiar surroundings. Kaillian had taken the children and Terric out to the Chantry to pray for thanks. Valendrian remained inside, resting weary bones. The pouch of coin that belonged to Sylrien provided fresh clothes of modest make for the party, had provided a replenishment of food for their packs, and a dozen small things to make life comfortable. He knew their journey was not over yet...They had to stay on the move, and Cumberland and the rendezvous point in the Planasene Forest were both still days away.

There was also another matter: what would he do?  
Fenris could stay with them; he could go to Denerim and live there in the alienage. Valendrian had made that option clear and invited him along. He surprised himself by even considering it: he would be among those that considered him family. He would have a family.

But Darinious would come for him. He always did. It made Denerim a less likely option. He would not invite the wrath of a Tevinter Magister upon those that had aided him. He could remain on the run. That way, he might remain free that much longer.

Or he could find Darinious, and meet him head-on and secure his freedom for good. It was the most dangerous of options, and the most difficult. He did not know where exactly his master was, and he knew he could not chance a return to the Tevinter lands - but there were other places. He knew the mage had a mansion in Kirkwall that he frequented, there was also a retreat in Orlais. There were options...

His thoughts were interrupted by the stirring of the woman on the bed next him. He had been standing by the fireplace, letting the warmth of the fire wash over him. Her eyes fluttered open, and she rolled over on her back, groaning as she placed pressure on the tender spot on her back. "How...How long? What happened? Am I dead?"

Fenris moved over to Sylrien's bed, sitting on the edge, "You make for a rather animated corpse if that was the case. Best preserved I've seen. You were out for three days, and in the meantime, we came here."  
She sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Three days? Is...Is everyone safe then? Illiyana..."

"Safe indeed. Wouldn't have been otherwise, if it wasn't for you. If you hadn't found out what was in that cave..."

Sylrien pulled the sheet up to her chest, shaking her head. "No. If it hadn't of been for me, we would not have been in the cave in the first place. It was the sleep - the lack of it, the lack of rest. I felt the Darkspawn there, and they felt me." She hung her head low, "It is my fault."

He arched an eyebrow, "You felt them? Then would make you a Warden." She gave a sheepish nod, her eyes downcast. He leaned back, shifting his weight on the the bed. "In Denerim, when the Blight..."

"Yes." She replied, softly.

Fenris had heard the stories. The whole of the world had been buzzing about the Blight that never-was, and the Warden that had ended it all. But why did she not seem proud of that fact? There had been rumors of an entanglement with the King of Ferelden and the Warden...

Aah. The man she was escaping.

He moved closer to her, taking her hand in his. He brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss on each of her knuckles. The gesture caused her to look up, with something akin to confusion on her features. He looked at her from between the strands of white hair that fell in front of his face, the bed creaking as he leaned forward. He reached out, tilted his head back and kissed her, breaking the kiss only to utter,  
"Any man that would give you up, or give reason to cause such heartache, is a fool."

He felt her hand slide against his skin, palm cupping his cheek as she sought to return that kiss - yet her lips did not touch his, yet.

"He was my fool."

He growled, pushing her back into bed, careful not to put too much pressure on where the bandage had been tightly wrapped. They slid into the mattress, he atop her, nudging her legs apart, even though he remained fully dressed, and she covered by the sheet.  
"You should reconsider, then. No fool is worthy of you." He shifted his hips, grinding slowly against her. She gasped and gave into a kiss, a low moan pouring into his mouth as he probed her lips with his tongue.

Her hands traveled to his arms, then around his shoulders. Fenris felt her tug on strands of hair, sending little electric shocks through his scalp. He groaned, clutching her tight, despite whatever pain he caused. He whispered low in her ear, his breath hot, "And I, Sylrien..." He growled out the R as his lips brushed against hers, and they travelled to her ear, "I am no fool..."

The doorknob turned, shook - he jumped to attention, making for the blade that rested against the wall. She grabbed the sheet to her chest with one hand, reaching out for swords that were not there. The handle shook again, the latch was opened...

And in came the children, followed by Terric and Kaillan. "Sylrien!" The young pair cried, jumping on the bed to greet the woman. Terric came in, carrying an armful of parcels, Kaillan handling the duty of quartermaster and nurse imperiously. She clucked her tongue, urging the laughing children to give Sylrien more space, to let her rest, before juggling the preparation of food: an assortment of cheeses, dried meat, bread and wine. Illiyana and Alanric retreated to the rug before the fireplace, playing with a doll and a wooden toy soldier. Terric was turned errand boy, working about the room as Kaillan checked Sylrien's wound. Fenris? He remained by the window, giving a gruff sigh of frustration and relief. Valendrian soon rejoined them.

Then night came, and with it, a contented, deep sleep.

-

_I know where you are, my little wolf. Did you think such things would be easy?_

Despite the sleep, he remained ill at ease. Every pair of eyes that fell on him, that did not belong to his companions, he returned with suspicion and a glare. His eyes narrowed at any bit of crimson, of maroon - ready to break into a sprint at slightest notice. Yet for all the dark looks, for all the incredulous stares at his tattoos, nothing ever came of it.

Sylrien was resting, and the others were content to amuse themselves. Only Valendrian seemed to be aware that such peace was temporary. Under his direction, the packs were organized, ready to be picked up at a moment's notice.

All Fenris had to do now was wait. Sylrien was still weak, and most likely unable to travel at the pace they had before. Funny how near death did that to a person. He was of little use until then, so he spent his time in the local tavern. It allowed him to keep an eye out for any trouble, and earn some coin in games of chance. Their - there he went, using their, or us, or our, or we, when it used to be him, alone. Their coin supply was not insubstantial, but sitting by idly would drive him mad...and then there was danger of being in the same room with her, and always being interrupted.

He kept his eyes to the door, brooding in the shadows of a corner. The regulars quickly learned to fear his skill at Wicked Grace; a new sword laying across the table proved it. It was a good way to pass the time and a good time to think. He still did not know what he would do when he had to decide where he would go.

Then someone was approaching him - walking directly through the crowded tavern in his direction. He tensed, his hand moving to rest on the sword hilt...Only to relax again: Terric. The boy slid in the chair opposite him, slumping forward. Fenris' eyes narrowed in annoyance, before addressing him, dryly, "You should never sit with the door your back. Always be aware of your surroundings, even the most innocuous."

He saw the boy sit up straight with a start, before nervously offering a "Yessir." He grabbed his chair, scooting it so that he was at an angle to the door, to where he could see it.

"Better. Why aren't you out with the others?" Terric shrugged, glancing to the sword.

"Not much else to do except wait. The kids are playing back in the room, Sylrien is resting, Valendrian is out doing elderly stuff, and I think Kaillan is finding something for dinner..." he looked down, fidgeting again. "We never ate so well even when we were home..."

Fenris snorted in response, "I've wondered about that, boy. I never thought anyone would actually be eager to go to an alienage. One cage to another."

Terric nodded, folding his hands on the surface. "I've...I've argued with the elder about that. If - When we get home, it'll be scraps again, and I'll be working the docks most likely, as a porter. Or be apprenticed somewhere, if I'm really lucky."

Fenris nodded, doing his best to muster some sort of enthusiasm, "You would be lucky. Your fate would be much different if you had stayed in Tevinter."

Terric paled at the thought, and nodded quickly. "To...to tell you the truth, I'd like to do what you and Sylrien - what you two do. Be a warrior, and fight the bad guys and help out others. Be a hero, even."

Hero? He was constantly being surprised on his trip. His lips quirked upwards in amusement at the boy's confession, and he leaned over, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "Listen boy - Terric, do you want to know what makes a hero? It isn't how fearsome you look, how hard you fight -not the armor, not the weapons. It's...the intent. It's fighting even when you have nothing to gain, and everything to lose. Surviving, not giving in to your fear or...or even your hatred..." Fenris was talking out of his ass, but it sounded good. It sounded appropriate, even. "You've lived through something lesser men have crumbled against. I'd say you're pretty heroic as is."

The sweetness was making Fenris sick to his stomach, but the boy looked at him in such a way that he couldn't help all the tripe falling from his mouth.

Terric was wide-eyed and whispered quietly, "Really?" Fenris couldn't bring himself to endorse this positiveness, so he did his best to look like he was giving him a knowing nod. Terric smiled and puffed up his chest.

Fenris? He needed a drink. The buxom bar wench had been giving him the eye the whole of his stay here, and he gestured with two fingers for her to come over. "Lass, two for my friend and I."

She flashed him a toothy grin in response, curtseying and moving away to fill the order. Terric looked like he was about to burst, and it behooved Fenris to admit he didn't mind the adoration and admiration in the look the boy gave him. "Your friend? You mean it? My first drink...?"

Fuck the Maker, the kid's first drink? Any more good will and he was sure he'd vomit. At least he might be able to blame the alcohol if it came to that.


	8. End of the Road

**Author's note: Hope you're all enjoying this, as we come to a close in the story. As always, please read and review. Looking back at it, I think the story might be a bit rushed - I knew what I wanted to happen, and it was hard to pace oneself in the act of getting there. What do you think? Anyways, like all good things, our group's rest must come to an end!**

* * *

Their time in the city was at an end. They had been found.

Well, they had been close to being found, but once more, they had slipped away in the nick of time.

Fenris felt it in the air. Something had changed: the looks he received were becoming more pointed and he was sure the whispers he heard were about him, about their group. The innkeeper gave him a look that appeared more guilty than weary, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up straight.

He rushed up to the stairs, already preparing in his mind what had to be done for their departure. Sylrien was better, and she could walk unaided, though he was unsure of how she would fare in combat. Terric had been awestruck by the gift of his old sword, and could at least swing it, if not much else. Kaillan would tend to the two youngest, and he-

He opened the door to find the party already preparing to leave. Sylrien was up, unsteady, but up, fitting her swords into place in the sheaths on her back. Illiyana and Alanric had their packs on, clutching their toys to their chests while the rest worked and were getting ready. Sylrien caught Fenris' expression first, nodding her head towards the pair at work, "An elf working in a tavern near the gates overheard what appeared to be mercenaries, looking for something that matched your description. He told his elder, who told Valendrian."

He nodded numbly, still somewhat amazed to find the group working so, "I could feel it too. The innkeeper has told them something."

She frowned, "The innkeeper? Already? Valendrian, Terric, Kaillan - help me make ropes - tear the sheets off the bed, the curtains, anything. We will not give them the satisfaction of apprehending us as soon as we walk out the door. Fenris?" She moved forward, her lips set in a grim line of determination, willing herself to walk across the room without a limp. "Help me move this in front of the door. Anything that will buy us time."

So like thieves in the night, they snuck out. They crept along the streets - Fenris flashed back to the night of their first meeting, of the labyrinthine journey through the streets of Minrathous. Somehow, there was a skiff waiting for them some ways outside the city. Valendrian flashed Fenris a sly smile, and he found himself pleasantly surprised with how these city elves made things happen.

Thus, their time in Hunters Fell ended, without nary a blade drawn, nor blood shed.

Rest had served them well. The march across southern end of Nevarra to the coast had been rigorous, but itwas nothing compared to the agonizing weather they had endured in the Plains, or the breakneck exhaustion experienced in crossing Tevinter. They slept little, but broke camp more often...Everything just seemed brighter, better to Fenris.

And then there was a time, after a week, where he could smell the salt on the wind, carried in from the coast. It was nearly over. They were nearly home.

What was home to him? Despite the easy journey, that question tore at his thoughts. He found them all too familiar. He realized...he might miss them. He wanted to see the sort of man Terric would be, he wanted to know how Valendrian ran his alienage and kept his people together in the face of poverty. ...He wanted to know if the two youngest would realized that the hair-pulling and dirt throwing would one day grow into something more, or if Kaillan would...do whatever she wanted to do, he didn't know her that well. And worse yet, he wanted to know what Sylrien was like when she was waking up beside him, all thoughts of whatever pain her fool caused gone.

He had found himself a family. He just didn't what to do with it.

The problem remained on his mind through the rest of that day, and into the evening. He was always quiet, but tonight, he was even quieter. He watched as the others set about to entertaining the children with stories, pantomiming characters and their actions. Terric had grown into his sword, if you will, standing apart from the camp, proudly keeping watch...Even though his back was turned to the woods, and he was laughing and eating up the play-acting just as much as the younger ones. When the children - all three of them - had been put to bed, a bottle had been produced, and passed around the fire. Even the fire was improved upon previous nights: a healthy crackling blaze that gave enough warmth to keep the cold away at a considerable distance. But one by one, they fell asleep, till it was only Fenris and Sylrien.

Her cheeks were painted a blush thanks to the wine. He could feel it swimming in his veins along with the lyrium. However, this time she was not opposite of him, but adjacent. She even leaned against him slightly, though he was unsure if it was swooning thanks to the wine, or more. With their history, he assumed perhaps both.

Her hand brushed over his, her eyes climbing up his body till their gazes met. When he saw the smile that passed over her lips, when he felt her lean forward to brush her lips against his, he realized he was happy.

She looked over her shoulder at the sleeping group, standing and taking him by hand. She pressed her finger to his lips, leading him a short ways away. The moon lit their way, and he followed, an eager captive. With the fire still within sight, she stopped, pushing him against a nearby tree with a hard kiss.

It was as if a dam was broken. All the missed opportunities, all the interruptions - he rose to the occasion. He kissed her back with equal passion, turning and reversing their positions: her back against the tree, and he pressed against her. The silence of the night was punctuated with their gasps, with their moans - sounds as entangled and entwined as their limbs. As he pushed her tunic down around her shoulders, as he filled his hands with her breasts, he felt hers move down and trace along the muscles in his arms, close around his hips, move to the front of his trousers and pull apart the laces there. He muffled a growl in a kiss, and bit down on her lower lip as he felt her fingers enclose about him and free him from the fabric confines.

His own hands wandered and he delighted in each sound he wrung from her. All the places he touched produced an unique sound. She shuddered beneath him, writhed as his hands traveled beneath the edges of her tunic, down her thighs and up underneath her skirt.

Fenris groaned at the wetness soon coating his fingertips, arched his back as he felt her lips at his ear - and hiss his name, and cry it out to the night sky! And then? And then they joined - he fit himself inside her, and they lost themselves inside each other.

The moon's light might have been cold, but during the hours of the night Fenris had never known such a heat that had ever so engulfed him, and burned him so deliciously.

The morning sun was gentle, and it seemed the others kept wide berth of their blanket, allowing extra hour of sleep. Fenris woke first, half clothed and satisfied, his hand tracing lazy circles on Sylrien's bare shoulder. She was curled up against him, and he took the moment to observe how she slept when sated. He would go with her, with them, and brave whatever storm followed.

He let her sleep another hour, let her join the waking world without pressing need.

The day seemed full of possibilities. Fenris did not hide his smile. He walked abreast with Sylrien, an arm draped over her shoulder. It was a good day. The mood seemed infectious among their party. Kaillan had been leading the children in some sort of song, a nursery rhyme. The three voices were soon joined by a fourth, Terric - then the old elf himself, Valendrian. Sylrien lent her own voice. he did not know the words, so only hummed along.

They were on their way to rendezvous with a group of Dalish elves, or so he had been told, east of the city of Cumberland, just within the borders of the Planasene Forest where the Imperial Highway ended. They would be guided to a small inlet where a ship was waiting, and then sail across the bay to Ferelden, bypassing Orlais and the Frostback Mountains. It sounded easy enough, and so close.

When the highway came into view, a cheer rose up among the group. The symbol of the empire that had subjected them to so much was now herald for the end of their trials.

They followed the white stone road until it began to crumble, until the stones were worn and the highway was reclaimed by the earth. The sea gleamed beyond, crowned by the thin strip of green that was home.

Yet there were no Dalish. It was strange that they were not there, but buoyed by the rest they had received in Hunters Fell, perhaps the group had arrived earlier than expected. Their spirits were not dampened, and Kaillan herded the youngest in order to set up the midday meal.

Perhaps because he was not blinded by thoughts of home, no matter how high his spirits were, there was something nagging in the back of Fenris' mind. As he stepped among the rocks, as he surveyed the site, that nagging grew louder.

It looked right. The sky was blue, the grass was green. There was no-one besides themselves in sight. That was, until he stepped forward, and heard a crunching, squishy noise beneath his foot.

He looked down to see bits of eyeball clinging to his boot.

That is when the screaming started.


	9. Fight and Flight

**Author's Note: Short, and like the ending of all things, a little bittersweet. The final fight, the final flight, that leads Fenris to Kirkwall. As always, please read and review and let me know how you're liking things. I'm always a little worried about fight scenes, so if you think the action is incomprehensible, or comprehensible, let me know!**

* * *

The serene field, situated where forest began and highway ended, was, in fact, a graveyard. The Dalish were here - they were still there, but in pieces. The earth was soaked in their blood, and the tall grass obscured the bits and pieces that were not reduced to a fine red slime.

"Down! Down now!" He shouted, the sword in his hand as he looked around.

"Cover! Kaillan! Terric! Take Valendrian and the children and find cover!" Fenris heard Sylrien shout, her back to his.

Out of of nowhere, figures clothed in maroon appeared, several with crossbows, and a handful armed with a weapon that made Fenris' blood run cold: the staves of spell-casters.

"Little wolf! Little wolf, did you think that your master would let such a prize go easy? He is most anxious for your return!"

Fenris snapped his head towards the origin of the voice: a mean-looking man, his head shaved in intricate patterns. He held blade in hand, the symbol of Tevinter emblazoned on his chest in shades of crimson and gold. "Did you think we would not find you? We could have had you days ago, if your master wanted you dead, but you are too precious to him. Lay down blade, and we can do this the easy way! Otherwise, it will not be pretty!"

He felt Sylrien behind him, heard the unsheathing of her swords as she backed into him. Sylrien. Terric, Valendrian, Kaillan - the others. "What of my companions? What is to be their fate?" He shouted in reply.

"What are you doing?" She hissed softly.

He shook his head. "I would have you home. I would have them home. I am not one of you, and you do not deserve to be robbed of your goal." She was about to respond when the man called out:

"Your companions? What of them? Lay down your weapons, and come to us without fight, and we might-"

He stopped mid-sentence, his words lost to gurgling as he keeled over. There was a dagger sticking out the front of his chest, sent there by the hand of Fenris' companion. Sylrien looked over her shoulder at him, "We leave none of our kin behind, whatever the cost."

Then, it began to rain crossbow bolts.

Fenris was a blur of lyrium-blue, sprinting across the field and swinging his sword as if a whirlwind of death. Arrows pierced naught but air, where moments before an elf stood. One guard would be cut down, and another would find some interior part of him brought outside his chest. He ripped out hearts, tore brains from skulls. He was death.

Sylrien was not too bad, either. While he was a whirlwind of death, she was its hand, moving quick and silent in contrast to his roars of rage. She wove her way across of field of bolts, across flames that shot through the air and beams of cold that flashed ice blue in the air. She danced with Fenris, he brutally forcing his opponents to meet the Maker, and she the considerably quieter aid that sent them into permanent night. But just when the fighting seemed to ebb, when it seemed all their foes dead and they paused for breath, a whistling noise erupted from the north, and a fireball - no, it was more like a boulder of flame - crashed into the earth, sending them both sprawling to the ground. There was no time to regain footing, to renew their onslaught, for in the precious few moments it took to get to their feet, more had come. He felt her grab his hand and run towards the safety of cover: the pieces of imperial highway that littered the landscape.

He saw the others huddled behind a section of stone wall. Fenris saw another gigantic fireball rain down and strike near them, decimating a large piece of stonework just to their left, between the pair and the rest of them. He heard the renewed onslaught of bolts, chipping away at the stones that sheltered them.

That brief, happy dream died in a moment. He turned to Sylrien, grabbing her by the nape of his neck and pressed his lips to hers. When the kiss ended, triggered by another fireball landing close to them, he whispered, "You have to go."

"Not without you. No - I will not abandon you to them."

Fenris shook his head at her protests, silencing them with another kiss before murmuring. "Your duty is to your people, and your family. They will follow me, they want me; they're not going to pursue you."

She shook her head, muttering "No, no..." over again. He was touched, but he knew it could not be otherwise.

"Look at them. They can live without me - without an elf they did not know a month before. You are their leader. Lead them to safety. I will draw these fools away, and I will find a way to end them - and the man who would call me slave. I can't do that if you don't get the others to safety."

Her eyes, her clear gray eyes, were wide and filled with tears as she looked up to him. Even though the earth groaned beneath him, even though death was bit a fireball away, she still took the time to brush the hair out of his eyes, to hold him close, whispering in his ear.

"I think we - I think you could have been happy. I think you could have found peace. If you surv-...When you are done , when you have ended them, come to Denerim and come find me." She kissed the lobe of his ear, his cheek, and finally, for the last time, his lips.

It was a kiss that shamed those few that came before it. It was bruising, and it was deep. It was every kiss they would never have after that moment combined. To break from it was more painful than any wound, bar the lyrium tattoos, that he had experienced up until that point.

But it had to end. They had to let each other go. He squeezed her hand, before he dove out from behind the rock. Cries arose from their pursuers, and a hail of bolts followed him. The air burned around him, before igniting where he had just been moments before. He turned back to see her there, watching him, before rolling out from behind the rock in the other direction, joining the other elves.

He raised his hand to them, before turning to run into the woods. He knew Kirkwall lay along the coast, though some distance away. He would draw the fools to the city, and he would lie in wait for the one that kept his mind, if not his body, still chained in shackles.

Again he looked back, to see if Sylrien and the others had fared any better. They had - moving along the edge of the wall in the opposite direction, towards Cumberland. He watched their forms grow smaller, and smaller, until they vanished from sight. The moment's pause was soon broken by the sound of armored feet trampling the brush underfoot. Fenris grinned; if it was a chase they wanted, he would oblige them. He turned and ran.


	10. Epilogue: Ships in the Night

**Author's note: I just want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read all of this, and those who have reviewed it. As always, please read and review, and keep your eyes open for more stories!**

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How many years has passed since then? Since he gained a family, and lost them? Two, three families, if one wanted to be generous. Darinious was dead now, and his own, real sister had revealed herself to be a traitor and no more kin to him than any two strangers might be. Tomorrow, he might very well die too; and in the service of mages, no less. It was a strange world.

This is not the first time he has thought about them, or about her...But with the finality of the Gallows looming ahead, it is the first time he dreams of her. She comes to him in the night, unchanged by time. He watches her lean forward, crawling on the bed, crawling over him till she straddled his hips.

"This...is a dream." he states, dryly, though his eyes do not leave her. She takes his hands, guides them to her hips as she purrs, "A good dream."

His lips quirked into a smirk, "A wet dream, you mean." She laughs and nods, and he feels himself respond to her hips grinding against his. He watches her slide her hands down his torso, down to where their hips joined - he feels her move her smallclothes out of the way, feels her slide down on him, and he closes his eyes, groaning at the sensations.

They couple, fast and hard - their bodies are slick with sweat, and he is enraptured by the sight of her astride him. "Come with me." She demands, and both meanings are clear to him, and he is only too eager to oblige-

And then Fenris wakes to the cold night air, covered in sweat. He is, as always, alone. He extricates himself from the sheets of his bed, stepping over to the window and looking out over the harbor. Two ships passed each other in the dead of night, a lit signal flashing between them, a brief connection, a reaffirmation of their existence. He felt something well up inside of him at the sight, but in the end, Fenris turned away from the window and slept once more.

The End


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